


Mosh With Care

by Arukou



Series: Tumblr Archive [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bone setting, Broken Bones, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-powered AU, Skinny!Steve, Steve is an idiot about his health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wilson didn't really expect that he'd be using his rescue medicine knowledge at a rock concert, especially not on some guy who looks like a stiff wind would blow him over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mosh With Care

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a meet-awkward prompt by [theappleppielifestyle](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/) which reads: ‘I accidentally dropped you while you were crowd surfing and you broke your ankle and now I feel responsible so I’m carrying you out of the moshpit’ au. Originally posted to [tumblr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/119487208181/prompt-from-theappleppielifestyle-i-accidentally). I had to watch video footage of doctors setting ankles for this fic. I can never unsee that, guys.

There were sweaty bodies on all sides, crashing and moving like waves on a stormy sea. He felt as one with them, the heavy bass throbbing in his ears and his chest like a second heartbeat. Normally he wasn’t much for rock, but he liked the way the crowds responded, the way the listeners became one organism of noise and heat.

Bodies were passing overhead, and every time he saw one coming his way, he did his part, raising his hands and moving the crowdsurfer along. He could hump a hundred pounds of gear in the sweltering Savannah heat, and the weight of the brave souls in the air seemed nothing in comparison. Right up until his sweaty palms slipped and he lost his grip on the next guy’s hips.

A body crashed down right in front of him and was quickly swallowed by the undulating crowd.

“Shit!” Sam cried, rather more loudly than he normally would, but still not loud enough to be heard by the revelers around him. He dove down and used his shoulders, shoving a clearing as he searched for the poor sap.

Three people in, he found him, a slip of a blonde guy in skinny jeans, balled in on himself and clearly searching for an exit with a slightly panicked expression.

“Hey man!” Sam yelled over the crowd, crouching close and throwing out his arms to keep a little space around them. Other people were noticing the little guy now and backing off a little. “Are you ok?”

The blonde looked up, spikes of sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, and frowned. “Think there’s something wrong with my ankle,” he shouted reluctantly, barely audible over the din of the concert.

“Well let’s get you outta here,” Sam returned, offering his hand. The little guy took it, struggling to his feet and immediately buckling when his left ankle took his weight. Sam caught him and got a shoulder under his arm; no easy feat when the guy was probably barely five feet tall.

“You old enough to be at this concert, man?” he shouted in the kid’s ear, carefully shifting until he had more of his weight.

“I’m twenty-six, fuck you very much,” the guy replied, grimacing as he tried to put weight down again. He was grinning though, and there was a sharp tease in his Brooklyn accent. 

Sam returned the wry smile and said, “Can you walk at all?”

“Sure,” he said, and took one wobbly step forward before collapsing like a new-born deer.

“Uh-huh,” Sam said, and without waiting for permission, he scooped the little guy up into a fireman’s carry. People were quick enough to get out of his way now as he fled from the center of the crowd. He made his way to the back of the hall, where drunk kids in clothes adorned with far too many belts and chains leaned against the walls and tried their hardest to look cool and disinterested.

He set the little guy down in a corner and crouched in front of him. “Sam Wilson,” he said, extending a hand. “First off, sorry for dropping you. Second off, you better let me take a look at your ankle.”

“Steve Rogers,” the blonde offered in return, shaking Sam’s hand and giving a self-deprecating grin. “You really don’t have to. I’m sure it’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.

“I’ve got medical training and I’d really feel better if…”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I get banged up all the time. Really I…”

“Dude, stop. Just let me look, ok?” He offered his most winning smile and Steve’s eyes widened a little, red creeping up his cheeks before he nodded once.

“Fine. You…do that.”

Sam eased Steve’s heavy leather boot off his left ankle and peeled the sock slowly off, watching as the smaller man’s face contorted and a fresh sheen of sweat broke out on his face. Under the fabric, the ankle was already swelling up half-again its normal size and turning a very nasty shade of purple.

“I’m gonna touch it, and it’s really gonna suck,” Sam said perfunctorily and he reached out to palpitate the bone and muscle. Something crunched under his grip and Steve groaned through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut.

“Broken,” Sam said, with a sharp nod, tucking Steve’s sock into his pocket. “But not badly. It’s your lateral malleolus. That little outer bump? We’ve gotta get you to a hospital. Get it set.”

“Uh, can’t…I’m not…Could you just drop me at home? I really…” The blush was back in force, even though Steve’s face was still scrunched in pain. Sam felt a little flutter of sympathy and he put two and two together.

“No health insurance?”

“Not…so much no. I’m in a high risk pool thing, but they don’t really help with emergency room visits.” Steve looked like he was speaking from experience, his eyes downcast and embarrassment sharp in his tone.

“Well, I can set the bone for you,” he said after a moment, “but you have to promise to follow all my instructions for the care.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Sam picked Steve back up again, and the guy was light as a feather, like some sort of delicate bird, though Sam didn’t voice the thought aloud. Instead, he just grabbed Steve’s boot and made for the door, nodding at security as he passed. He felt a brief rush of luck that he’d driven rather than taken a cab, because it meant he could get Steve positioned in the passenger side with his ankle elevated and cushioned by the spare pillow in the back.

Steve gave his address and Sam plugged it into the GPS, watching as the map pinged to the south side of Brooklyn. The blonde closed his eyes and leaned back, for the most part silent, though he twinged with a small groan when Sam hit larger potholes. The swelling was getting worse, and Sam made an executive decision when he saw a familiar red sign in the distance.

“I’m gonna stop at a CVS and grab you an ice pack and some pain meds. Anything you prefer to take?”

“Ibuprofen? If you can.”

“Will do, man.” Sam pulled in and disappeared inside, only to return a few minutes later loaded down with all the supplies he’d need, plus a couple of waters and bags of vegetable chips.

“Hope you can eat these,” he said with a grin, passing them over to Steve. He then busied himself extracting the ice packs and packing them in around Steve’s ankle, lining them with some paper towels and binding it all down with an ace bandage.

Steve gave a pained smile, running a hand over the buzzed portion of his undercut. To distract himself, he started opening the chips, popping a bright orange one in his mouth. “Perfect. I kinda…I kinda skipped dinner.”

“Is that why you weigh about as much as a chihuahua.”

“I weigh at least as much as a dachshund.”

“You keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

The rest of the drive was uneventful, and Sam found Steve’s apartment with little trouble. “What floor you live on?”

“Fourth?” Steve said, ducking his head as he opened the passenger door.

“Don’t you dare put weight on that ankle and ruin all my hard work. I haven’t even set the bone yet.” Sam threatened as he swung around, plastic bag of supplies dangling in one hand. He turned his back to Steve and waited patiently until the blonde figured out they were piggy-backing, and then reluctantly clambered onto Sam’s shoulders.

“I haven’t got much money, but I can pay for the supplies…” he started as Sam set to climbing the stairs.

“Not a chance, man.”

“I don’t take charity,” Steve said, voice stubborn in Sam’s ear. Sam just hummed neutrally, focusing on keeping his balance up the narrow, rickety stairs.

They hit the fourth floor, and Steve jingled a set of keys in front of Sam’s face. Sam took them, unlocked the place and stepped in. Steve was living in an open studio, with only a little partition hiding what was presumably the toilet and shower. The rest of the space was divided with sheets strung over laundry lines, but Sam could see a dozen or so canvases against the wall on one side and two beds on the other, a folding screen between them.

“Buck, you home?”

“Steve?” Came an answering voice from somewhere to the right. “I thought you weren’t getting home until…”

A tall, white man stepped out from behind one of the sheets, a dish towel in his right hand. His left sleeve was tied off at the shoulder, and Sam knew instantly from the set of his shoulders that this new person was a fellow military man.

“Who’s this?” he said, expression darkening.

“This’s Sam. He, uh, well…I kinda…”

“What did you do?”

“It’s nothing…” Steve started, wriggling to be put down. Sam just held on tighter and interrupted saying, “He’s got a broken ankle and insisted I take him home instead of to a hospital. I’ve got medical training and I’m gonna set it for him, if that’s cool with you.”

If anything the man’s expression darkened even further, and he stepped into Sam’s space, finger pointed at Steve. “I let you go out alone one night and you…”

“I’m a big boy, Bucky, I can take care of myself.”

“And yet every time you go out on your own, you come back injured.”

“Not every time.”

“Pride rally and the broken nose.”

“That hardly makes a pattern.”

“Occupy Wall Street and the two black eyes.”

“You are making mountains outta mole hills.”

“Pneumonia from polar bearing in the fucking Atlantic in February. With your fucking lungs, it’s a wonder you didn’t die. I swear to god, Rogers…”

“Ok. Fine. I’m a walking disaster, and I shouldn’t be unleashed on the unsuspecting public.”

“Would it be cool if I set the bone now?” Sam interrupted, smile dancing across his lips. The tall guy, Bucky, jumped back with a start and gave Sam a small, friendly smile, something bruised in his eyes.

“Yeah. I’ll finish lecturing him later. Gotta think about how we’re gonna get hold of some crutches.”

Sam carried Steve back to the beds and glanced between them, trying to guess how this worked. “Blue blanket,” Steve said in his ear, sounding exhausted now that he was in his own home. Sam turned and carefully deposited the smaller man on the bed, before opening his bag to dig through his supplies.

“I’m gonna touch it again, and it’s still gonna suck,” Sam said, carefully peeling away the cold packs. “Scooch back so I can get it elevated for you.”

“Do your worst,” Steve said sliding back and, sitting up on his elbows to watch. Sam ran his fingers over the outer bone, assessing.

“It’s barely out of place. I’m just gonna push it into alignment and then wrap the crap out of your foot so you can’t move your ankle. You’ll have to keep it immobile for about six weeks, no weight at all on it for the first three or so. And you gotta realize. I’m not really a doctor. I’m a pararescue, so all my medical knowledge is basically emergency based. I still really think you should see a professional, just in case.”

“I’ll consider it,” Steve said through gritted teeth as Bucky called across the space, “I’ll force him to go. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

Sam slid the bone into place and started wrapping, holding Steve’s foot at a firm ninety degrees. Through it all, Steve barely made a peep, though he gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his pale cheeks and nose. Sam had seen grown men scream at less than this little guy was taking, and he smiled a little as he wrapped. Once he was satisfied with the binding, he reapplied the ice packs, strapped them down, and shoved pillows under Steve’s ankle until it rested above hip level. “Keep ice on it for at least twenty-four hours. Forty-eight would be better. Pain killers?”

“Yes, please,” murmured Steve, eyes closed and face pinched. Sam dug out the bottle and shook three tabs into his hand, and then cracked the bottle of water to go with it.

Bucky appeared from around the sheet again, a plate of sandwiches in hand. “It’s the least we can do,” he said gruffly, offering the food to Sam.

“Thanks, man.”

“James Barnes,” he said, swiveling to get a sandwich to Steve as well. “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks for looking after him.”

“My pleasure,” Sam said, glancing down at Steve. The little blonde looked like he was zoning out, though he chewed his sandwich easily enough. In the soft yellow light of the apartment, Sam got his first really good look at the guy, and found he liked what he saw. Steve was small sure, but his fine chin and cheekbones were well-shaped, and the thick fan of eyelashes against his skin was somehow deeply tempting. “I’m glad he’s got a boyfriend waiting for him at home.”

Bucky snorted a little and shook his head. “We’re not boyfriends. He’d’a driven me crazy years ago if we were dating.”

“I did drive you crazy years ago,” Steve mumbled through his sandwich, lazily opening his eyes and grinning up at Bucky. “Dating had nothing to do with it.”

Bucky raised a sharp eyebrow and retreated again, plate still clutched in hand.

“Sorry about him,” Steve said softly. “He doesn’t do well with new people. Takes him a while to warm up.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. So listen, I better get going, but I wanna check up on you. Make sure you don’t hurt your ankle worse. Is that cool?”

“Yeah, that’d be…that’d be nice. Let me just,” Steve said, arching up on the bed and digging out his wallet. “I gotta pay you back for the…”

“I’m not takin’ your money, man.”

“And I’m not takin’ your charity,” Steve returned, setting his mouth in a stubborn line.

“You really want to repay me?” Sam asked, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back with a considering expression. 

Steve’s blue eyes sparked with challenge, and he sat up a little more, shirt riding up until Sam could see the small star tattoo picked out along the sharp line of his hipbone. “Yes.”

“How about dinner on Sunday? I’ll pick you up at six.”

“You…want a date?”

“Whadaya say, tough guy?”

Steve gave Sam an obvious once over, the blush rising in his cheeks again, and then smiled sweetly, eyes dropping. “Fine. But I’m payin’.”

“Damn right you are,” Sam replied, and leaned over, snatching a pad of post-its from Steve’s bedside table. He scrawled down his name and number and peeled the sticky off, pressing it to Steve’s bare toes.

“Call me,” he said with a grin, and then beat a quick retreat, cheeks warm at the thought of Steve’s smiling eyes. 

Just as he shut the door behind him, he heard Bucky say, “At least this time, you came home with more than just a fucking injury, thank fuck.”

It was only once he was back in his car with the engine running that Sam realized Steve’s sock was still in his pocket. He considered running it back up, but decided to hold onto it as insurance. Even if Steve didn’t end up calling, he’d still have an excuse to swing by. He didn’t have any intention of missing out on his date.

**Author's Note:**

> For more fanfiction and nerdery, you can find me on tumblr.


End file.
